Kristie Cook - Devotion

"Yes, but that's not the point. I–"

"They obviously forgive you, though. Tristan, I've told you, you need to–"

"Alexis." He opened his eyes and turned on his side to face me. The gold flecks were dim, barely visible, the green dark and muddy. His pain silenced me. "Noah wasn't in the bakery. I didn't know anyone was in there. It was only supposed to look like Noah had been there when I started the fire. But …"

I swallowed. The one-word question came out silently. Who?

"Their father … Rina's husband … your grandfather. He died. Because of me."

My hand flew to my mouth. Tristan rolled over and stared at the ceiling. I didn't have to enter his mind to know he replayed the scene. I had no idea what to say. I thought of Mom and Rina and how devastated they must have been to lose a father and a husband, a son and a brother all at once. Only the two of them left …

"But that's how it's supposed to be," I finally said. "They're Amadis. That's how it is for us. The sons go to the Daemoni. The fathers, at least the Norman ones, die young. All so the daughters can come to the Amadis to serve their purpose. And, like I said, they obviously forgive you."

"Do you see my point then? You just said it yourself."

The sons go to the Daemoni. I did say it myself, as if it's a given. Natural. Unchangeable.

I lay down in the crook of Tristan's arm, my head resting in the soft space right below his shoulder. A heavy blanket of guilt and sorrow lay over us.

"They do forgive you, Tristan," I whispered. "You have to forgive yourself."

He didn't answer. It wasn't the first time I'd had to tell him this. I wanted to cry for him, for Dorian, for Mom and Rina, too. Instead, I changed the subject.

"Does someone in the Daemoni have the power of persuasion, like my mom? Is that how they do it?"

Tristan didn't answer at first, but I felt his body relaxing under mine as his mind shifted gears. The guilt blanket lifted. "Sure, but it doesn't matter who speaks to the boy, whether they have that power or not. That's not what's causing it."

I sat up again and pulled my knees under my chin. "We have to figure it out, Tristan. I just got you back. I can't lose him."

"We will, my love. But you really do need to relax." His hand slid up my spine and massaged my neck. "You're so tense. We can't solve this tonight, and as I've said before, we have time. You can't be like this for the next several years."

"You still think we have that long? Even after today?"

"It's hard to say. I guess we have to have faith, don't we? We have to trust, Lex."

I snorted. "Trust is not exactly my strong suit."

"I'm not asking you to trust a stranger. You know who you need to trust for this. Let it go. You need to if you're going to do any of us any good." He pulled me down into his arms and nibbled my ear lobe. "I'll take your mind off of it."

I cringed from the tickle–and the total turn-on. "I can't, Tristan. I just … can't."

"Again, you're worrying too much." His lips traveled along my jaw. His hand slid along my side, under and up my new pajama top that had magically appeared along with a pile of other clothes in our suite this afternoon.

"Please?" I nearly begged.

"I thought so," he murmured against my chin.

"No … I mean …" I could barely talk, my heart rate and breath already speeding. I tightened my hand over his arm and pulled it away. "Please. Don't."

"Are you sure?" His lips lightly pressed against each corner of my mouth, then dead center. My resolve melted into the kiss. And he was right–this would take our minds off all our worries. Except one. One that was screaming louder and louder. The horror of the other night.

I placed my hands between us, against his chest. "Yes, I'm sure. I don't want to be. But I am."

He lay down and intertwined our fingers, then pressed the back of my hand against his lips.

"Okay. I can be patient," he said.

"Let's make a deal. If you don't pressure me on this, I'll try to relax about the other things."

"I wouldn't pressure you anyway, my love. I want to relieve you of worry, not add to it." He wrapped his arm around my waist and turned me so my back pressed against his chest–and my butt against his still-hard groin. I sighed. "We'll figure out something. For all of it. Relax, Lex. Get some rest."

I tried to relax under his normally calming touch, tried to melt into his embrace, but what he didn't say, what he knew would only make me feel worse, lurked with everything else in the corners of my mind: no sex meant no baby girl. And we had to try, in case I had completely misunderstood the thoughts about the mysterious girl. How could I ever humiliate myself like that again, though?

Life on the island fell into a routine. While Mom and Rina taught Dorian history and languages in the morning, Tristan and Char taught me how to fight. At least, that was the goal, they said, but, so far, everything was about training my muscles until things became automatic–things such as punches, chops, kicks, handsprings and flips. I'd yet to learn any real fighting or anything about weapons, and I wondered if Tristan purposely prolonged the training process, not wanting me to learn them. He'd said he wanted to prepare me for anything, but he could have fooled me. In the afternoons, Tristan taught Dorian math and science while I practiced my telepathy on anyone who was nearby, then I took over with Dorian, working on his English, reading and grammar. Not exactly a Norman's routine, but regardless of how different the actual tasks were from real life, routine still became mundane.

Dorian's birthday broke up the monotony. Mom and Char threw him a big party–big for him, anyway. With Tristan and me, Mom, Owen, Rina, Solomon, Char, Martin and Ophelia, it was the biggest birthday party Dorian ever had. He didn't care no other children attended. He'd never been one to hang out with kids his own age anyway. In fact, he could barely get along with them.

"Dad said I can get a puppy!" Dorian exclaimed as he ran circles around my chair on the lawn.

I turned toward Tristan to throw him a look of annoyance, but had to fight a smile instead. Wearing jeans, a t-shirt, an apron and a chef's hat and flipping burgers and steaks on the grill, he could have been any Norman dad on a Spring Sunday afternoon. Though, unlike most dads, he looked more delicious than any food and sizzled hotter than any steak. I almost giggled at the thought, giddy with how perfect today felt. Life had been nearly normal like this once not too long ago, before the Ang'dora. Yet, without Tristan, it had been incomplete. Now I felt emotionally whole … almost. A daughter was the final missing piece.

"Oh, really?" I said.

Tristan grinned and shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"I've been good," Dorian said, making a figure eight around Mom and me. "You and Mimi said I could have a dog if I didn't get in another fight before my birthday. Now it's my birthday and I didn't fight."

I laughed.

"You haven't been around any kids to get in a fight with," Mom pointed out.

That didn't matter to Dorian. He practically sang, "I'm getting a dog! I'm getting a dog!"

"We said we'd talk about it," I reminded him. He stopped dead in his tracks, and the big grin turned into the saddest frown I'd ever seen. His bottom lip started to tremble.

"That's what you say when you mean no," he said, his voice quavering.

My heart broke. I didn't want to tell him no. In fact, I wanted to give him anything in the world I could, even the moon, if it meant he'd stay with us and never leave. I wasn't beyond bribing him. But a dog was too impractical for our crazy lives. How could we make such a promise? What was Tristan thinking?

"No, it means we have to wait until we have our own house," I said, taking his hands and pulling him into a hug. "We can't have a dog at Rina's and we don't know when we'll be moving to our own house. But, when we do, if our house is good for a dog, well …"